


Aches and Pains

by poselikeateam



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canonical Child Abuse, Childhood Memories, Chronic Pain, Elf Jaskier | Dandelion, Endometriosis, Established Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Flashbacks, Gender Dysphoria, Geralt has endometriosis, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Medical Procedures, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Part-Elf Jaskier | Dandelion, Post-The Witcher 3: Wild Hunt, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Repressed Memories, Surgery, Tender Sex, Trans Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26363260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poselikeateam/pseuds/poselikeateam
Summary: Pain is nothing new. As a witcher, it's been his constant companion. What really bothers Geralt is this pain that he gets that has no explanation. There's nothing he can do to predict it, to stop it, or to treat it. Jaskier catches on, and insists that he get it looked at.[Geralt has endometriosis]
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 52
Kudos: 309





	Aches and Pains

**Author's Note:**

> I forgot to say, so ETA that **there are descriptions of medical procedures, specifically a pelvic exam, and use of clinical language that may be dysphoric for some folks.**

Ever since he was young, Geralt has known pain. 

The thing is, he can handle most of it. Between his training and the mutations, he barely registers pain anymore. However, there is one pain that he has never been able to shake, and has never had an easy time of handling.

Pain is the body's way of communicating that something is wrong. Usually when he is in pain, he can trace it to the problem. This isn't like that. There's no injury he's suffered, no rhyme or reason, no catalyst. Sometimes it is there and sometimes it is not but when it is there, oh fuck is it there. 

It's a sharp, stabbing pain in his lower abdomen, just above his pelvis. It isn't a pulled muscle, and he hasn't found anything that makes it go away. Sometimes heat will help alleviate it, but never fully. It also never hurts the same amount each time. Sometimes it sort of feels like he's constipated, even though he knows he's not. Most days it's just a persistent feeling that he can more or less ignore, but sometimes it's strong enough that he has to grit his teeth until it goes away, and very rarely it's so strong that he can hardly move. 

When he was younger, still training at Kaer Morhen, he'd tried to express this pain once, and only once. He'd been told, in no uncertain terms, that witchers don't have the luxury of complaining about being in pain, that he isn't even injured so he has nothing to complain about. He'd tried to persist, because if he is hurting this much then clearly his body is telling him that something is _wrong_ and it should be fixed, but he'd only been told that if he really wanted to complain, then he could be shown real pain.

After that flogging, he'd never brought it up again.

Some nights he can't sleep or meditate, can't find a good position no matter how much he tosses and turns. In the morning he is no more rested than the night before, and in no less pain, but he rarely has the luxury of lying there until the pain goes away. After all, it's never going to.

By the time Jaskier had come into his life, the pain had just been part of it for so long that he never considered that it could be anything but normal. Besides, he'd never had anyone in his life who cared about it. He hasn't brought it up to anyone since he was a boy, and he doesn't plan to start.

Still, Jaskier is perceptive. He might not know what's wrong, but he knows that something is. On the days when Geralt's pain is the worst, Jaskier is there, finding ways to soothe him, making sure that Geralt doesn't try to get up no matter where they are. At first it's frustrating, but he comes to appreciate it. When Geralt lashes out because he just _hurts_ so fucking _much_ , Jaskier never takes it personally. 

Honestly, Jaskier is the best thing that's ever happened to him. It's part of why Geralt tries, for so long, to push him away. After all, even if Jaskier means it when he says he isn't going to leave, humans die so easily. He doesn't want to allow himself this happiness if it's going to be temporary.

That just means that when he finds out that Jaskier is part elf, with all of the longevity that implies, he feels a little foolish.

At this point, Geralt and Jaskier have been circling one another for decades now. It’s always been the same thing: Jaskier flirts, Geralt pretends he doesn’t notice, Jaskier thinks he’s being rejected, Geralt thinks Jaskier isn’t serious. Rinse and repeat.

Finally, something had to give. 

Look, it’s not as though Geralt doesn’t think Jaskier is attractive. It’s actually the opposite, though he doesn’t want to say so and risk the bard’s head getting any bigger, lest he no longer fits through doors. The problem isn’t that he’s unattractive, but actually the opposite. 

Sex is painful. Like, really, hideously, ridiculously painful. Not all the time, but usually. Having something inside him hurts like hell, no matter how aroused he is. Worse, half time time just being aroused causes that stabbing abdominal pain to flare up. 

So it isn’t that he doesn’t want to have sex with Jaskier, but also, he really doesn’t. He wants to experience it, he is attracted to the bard, it’s not like he hasn’t heard good things (too many, from too many people, making that ugly jealous feeling fill his chest until it almost choked him sometimes). It’s just that he doesn’t want that pain if he can avoid it.

He can’t avoid it, though, and he knows that. If he and Jaskier don’t sleep together, Jaskier won’t want him. Or, perhaps worse, Jaskier will still want him but will still warm others’ beds, and Geralt would have no right to stop him. After all, if Geralt can’t give him what he needs, what’s the point? 

"Geralt, darling," Jaskier trills soothingly, as one might with a skittish horse, "what's the matter?"

"Nothing," the witcher grunts in return.

With one eyebrow raised and his voice dripping with doubt, Jaskier answers, "That's funny, because usually, people don't look like they're headed to the gallows when they fall into bed with their lovers."

Geralt sighs, half fond and half exasperated in that way that only Jaskier can make him feel. "I mean it," he insists. "It's fine. I want this — want you."

"If you're sure..." Jaskier answers dubiously. “You will tell me if something’s wrong?” 

Geralt isn’t sure if it’s meant to be a request or demand — knowing Jaskier, probably both — but he grunts in assent anyway. If it’s unbearable, he’ll say something, but there’s nothing he can do about the pain in general. 

At first, the bard just trails his hands up and down Geralt's torso, mapping it out like he wants to memorise every bump and scar. The soft affection leaves Geralt nearly dizzy with want, so much so that he almost entirely forgets to worry about what's to come. This time, his own arousal barely causes any cramping, so he can ignore the small amount of pain and focus solely on the pleasure.

It seems as though Jaskier is determined to make him forget his worry altogether. When he finds himself between Geralt's legs, the witcher braces himself, assuming that he's going to be stuffed full rather quickly. However, one of Jaskier's greatest talents has always been defying his expectations. The bard presses kisses and licks to his cock, stroking his outer folds with two fingers, content to bring Geralt pleasure without the discomfort of pressing in. It's... nice. It's more than nice, but of the two of them, he's not the wordsmith, so nice will have to do.

He's a little surprised when his own orgasm blindsides him, and Jaskier just licks and pets him through it.

"Still alright, dearest?" the bard asks as the aftershocks fade.

Maybe, Geralt thinks, maybe this time it won't hurt too badly. He's never felt this good before — perhaps when Jaskier presses in, it will be different. With that thought, he nods, feeling a hell of a lot more enthusiastic than he was when they started. The bard grins like fucking sunshine and leans in to take another filthy kiss, and Geralt groans when he tastes himself on the other man's tongue.

Unfortunately, Jaskier is not the exception. Still, he was kind enough to grant Geralt his release, so the least he can do is grit his teeth and let the bard take his own in turn. Of course, it doesn't work out that way. That confusingly kind man, who is apparently determined to only be perceptive when it’s the least convenient, looks up at his face, and stops, even though he's only halfway in. 

For a short, guilty moment, Geralt thinks that he should have tried better to school his features. It's just... well, he knows what he looks like. Women tend to like his grizzled mug, and it's easy enough to bring them off without having to have anything inside him — at least, the ones he's been with. Jaskier is not a woman, though, so for some reason he'd assumed it would be different. He still doesn't know what the fuck Jaskier sees in him. 

He just barely holds back the sigh of relief when the bard pulls out; he feels guilty, selfish, for ruining this for the other man.

"Geralt, talk to me." It's a plea and a demand all at once, somehow, and Geralt aches in more ways than one.

"It's fine," he insists.

"I've seen you bleed half to death with a more pleasant expression," the bard answers, crossing his arms, "so no, I don't believe you."

The witcher shrugs somewhat helplessly. "I don't know what you want me to say. It's not a big deal. I'm a witcher, I can handle it — you've just said you've seen me handle worse."

"Not because of my prick!" Jaskier looks horrified, upset in a way that Geralt really can't understand.

"It's not your fault," he answers, trying his best to soothe the other man. "Sex just hurts, I should be used to it by now."

Somehow, that does not help. If anything, it only makes things worse, judging by his lover's expression.

"Geralt, sex isn't supposed to hurt."

He looks away, because he doesn’t want to see that hurt expression on Jaskier’s face. He doesn’t want to see the moment that it turns to disappointment — because Jaskier is a good man, often thinks of Geralt first for some reason, but when the surprise fades away he’s going to realise that Geralt isn’t good for him. He’s going to realise that Geralt can’t provide the intimacy he wants, and he’s going to leave. The worst part is, he won’t be unkind about it. If anything, he’ll probably try extra hard to make sure Geralt is okay, to let him down gently, when all the witcher wants to do is get this the fuck over with.

The bard places a hand on Geralt’s cheek, stroking down his face until his hand rests under the witcher’s chin. “Darling, please look at me.”

And damn him, but there’s no way he can say no to that pleading voice. He doesn’t even have to look to see the puppy-dog eyes Jaskier is giving him, because he can envision the expression perfectly. Fine, then, if it will make this go faster. He looks at Jaskier, steeling himself for a broken heart. It’ll be fine, he thinks — serves him right for having a heart to break in the first place.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jaskier asks. There’s no demand, no accusation; he isn’t angry, and somehow, that makes it all feel worse. 

“What’s there to tell?” Geralt counters. 

There’s something in Jaskier’s expression, something in his eyes that makes Geralt feel _seen_. Even though he’s already naked, even though Jaskier’s just brought him to orgasm, he suddenly feels more exposed than he ever has before. Jaskier has a habit of making him feel that way, laid bare, understood. He just doesn’t know how to feel about it most of the time. 

“You’re in pain,” the bard says again. “You never tell me when you’re in pain, Geralt.”

“I’m always in pain,” he answers before he can really think about it. “Why should this be any different?”

That doesn’t actually help, judging by Jaskier’s expression — he looks like he doesn’t know whether to be indignant or heartbroken, and is trying to manage both at once. 

“You don’t have to be, that’s the thing!” Jaskier insists. “If you just talk to me, communicate when something’s hurting you, we can do something about it!”

“This has hurt longer than you’ve been alive,” he grumbles. He cannot believe that they’re having this conversation _right now_. 

“Have you ever gotten it checked out? Tried to do something about it?” demands the bard. And, no, he hadn’t, but that’s not really his fault, is it? He’d tried expressing it _one time_ , and that was enough to teach him not to do that anymore. 

Jaskier, master of reading Geralt’s silences, takes this one as a _no_ , which it technically is. He sighs, and Geralt thinks that finally, they’re done with this stupid conversation. For once, Jaskier is going to listen to him and stop worrying over things that he can’t change. They can get back to fucking, get it over with, and never talk about this again.

As it turns out, that’s not even remotely the case.

Maybe Geralt should know better than to think Jaskier will ever listen to him. He must be the only man who’s ever worried about a witcher’s comfort, and as with all the things he cares about, he puts his all into it. 

See, Jaskier starts making noise about stopping in Oxenfurt, and Geralt will admit that he doesn’t usually pay attention to Jaskier’s reasoning for things, because it saves him a lot of stress to not try to make sense of whatever the fuck goes on in his bard’s head at any given moment. He says something about Shani being in town and Geralt assumes it’s just a passing thought. After all, they both know Shani, Jaskier having gone to school with her and Geralt having… well, having been intimate with her on and off over the years. Shani is a good friend, but he still assumes that Jaskier needs to stop off in Oxenfurt for something Academy-related. 

So when they make it to Shani’s house (which is also set up as a clinic) he’s a little confused, but doesn’t really think much of it. That is, he doesn’t think much of it until he’s being sat down and asked all these _questions_. 

Of course. This is about the pain thing. 

He can’t be mad at Jaskier, even though he sort of wants to. For some reason Jaskier cares about him and doesn’t want him in pain. Geralt can understand that, because it’s how he feels about the people he cares about, even when he knows it’s unreasonable. The thing is, Jaskier refuses to believe that his concern is unreasonable. 

Still, Geralt endures this little checkup. He doesn’t think anything will come of it, any sort of explanation or relief for his pain, but he knows that Jaskier isn’t going to even start believing that nothing’s wrong until a doctor says so.

It’s uncomfortable. Of course it is. His body is a tool, honed and tempered and treated so that he can best do his job with it. He tries not to think about it in any way other than utilitarian because then he has to think about the parts he has, on a personal sort of level that he just isn’t comfortable with. And he’s had the same body for his whole damn life, sort of — excluding the parts changed by the mutations, anyway, and unfortunately his genitals don’t fall under that category. 

It’s just the body he has, and the genitals he has, and it’s usually nothing that bothers him because he doesn’t give it any thought. If he can keep detached from it he can ignore this… uncomfortable, skin-crawling sort of feeling he gets, the abject _wrongness_ of it all. 

He can’t be upset at them for making him think about it, not really, but he kind of is anyway. 

Swallowing his discomfort, he describes the pain in detail, answering all of her questions. Location, what it feels like, pain level on a scale of one to ten (which is a question he’s never understood because it’s _very_ subjective, and a one for him might be a ten for, say, a farmer), when it happens, how long it lasts, how long since it first happened, what might trigger it — he answers everything with a patience that even he’s surprised to possess. 

He almost draws the line at the pelvic exam. 

To be fair, he and Shani have slept together. She knows this part of his body intimately, knows his whole body to the point where she comments on how many more scars he has since they’ve last met. He has no doubt that that’s the whole reason Jaskier had intentionally come to her instead of a different physician or a random healer or mage, and he has to admit that he appreciates it. There’s some level of familiarity and comfort to this, if only because the fingers inside him are familiar, even if the clinical way they move is not. 

She puts two fingers inside him and presses down on his lower belly at the same time and he _almost_ hisses in pain. Of course, she notices, and now they’re back to _does this hurt_ and _is that better, worse, or the same_ and he answers them all in the same clinical way she asks them. The less personal he can make this, the better. 

Finally, _finally,_ this exhausting, ridiculous ordeal is over. He waits for her to say that it’s all in his head, or there’s nothing that can be done, or any number of things that are a clear dismissal.

Instead, she tells him that there _is_ something wrong. 

Endometriosis. A big word for _you’re as scarred on the inside as you are on the outside_. His uterus — and he _really_ doesn’t want to think about it as _his_ or even acknowledge that he _has_ one — is all fucked up. The lining inside, the endometrium, is only supposed to grow on the inside. The purpose of it is to build up to get ready for pregnancy. Once a month or so, if there’s no pregnancy involved, all of the built up endometrium gets expelled — or, well, it _should_. With this condition he apparently has, the endometrium grows in other parts of the body, outside of the uterus. It still tries to shed, but there’s nowhere for it to escape his body. With nowhere to go it eventually just… turns into scar tissue. 

The clinical explanation makes him feel better about all of it. It’s detached, educational. It’s just another injury, and that… that’s okay. He can deal with that.

What really bothers him about it is that he shouldn’t even _have_ these malfunctioning parts in the first place. It’s bad enough, he thinks, to have ovaries and a uterus, even though he can’t actually use them. It’s so much worse to know that they’re what causes him this pain. Really, as if it wasn’t already painful enough.

Shani says that she could perform surgery, but that she doesn’t know how his body will react to the anaesthesia. It’s already a risky procedure, and to top it all off she has almost no experience with it. As much as he trusts her surgical skills, he isn’t willing to go under the knife for a maybe.

From there, a lot happens. Like, a lot.

Because, somehow, Jaskier still refuses to give up. He still thinks that this can be fixed, that there must be something that can be done. Somehow, that puts them in Triss’ parlour.

She’s doing well for herself lately. Kovir’s been good for her, and he’s glad. He still can’t quite forgive her for taking advantage of his amnesia, for the way she’d manipulated him, but he doesn’t hate her. She’ll never have his trust again, but he probably shouldn’t have given it to her in the first place, so he blames himself more than anything.

Jaskier does all the talking, because of course he does. It’s just who he is, in general and in their relationship. He does the talking, and Geralt generally deals with whatever comes out of it. He has to admit that, more often than not, letting Jaskier talk is a good way to solve problems. He won’t admit it _aloud_ , of course, but he can admit it to himself. 

(There’s just no fucking way he’s letting Jaskier’s head get any bigger. Maintaining a healthy level of ego in his bard is a constant struggle.)

And once again Geralt is reminded that he isn’t the only strategist between the two of them. Jaskier, when he really sets his mind on something, is a real force of nature. Going all the way to Kovir to meet up with Triss seemed stupid, a waste of time and coin, but Jaskier was adamant and Geralt wasn’t going to let him take the voyage alone. 

When they finally get to talking, he understands just why they’d come. Shani might not be able to operate on him, but every sorceress experiences the removal of a certain set of organs. Yennefer, though physically closer, resents what was done to her, resents the loss of her ability to conceive and bear children. Asking her would be stupid, bordering on cruel.

Triss, though? Geralt learns that, apparently, she was more than glad to have her reproductive system removed. And he’s actually kind of surprised, though he doesn’t show it, that she had suffered from the same condition. For her, and people like her, the end of their training is a bigger blessing than most people could imagine.

Geralt is not a sorcerer. He has his signs, and beyond that he has no magic to speak of, and he’s fine with that. Once again, he expects to be told that there’s nothing that can be done for him, that they’ve come all this way for nothing; and, once again, he is surprised when he’s told that, actually, she can help him after all. 

It should be no trouble, she tells them. He doesn’t need to be a sorcerer, he just needs to have the parts to remove. She explains the procedure in detail and normally he would be very attentive, but he can’t focus. The sudden anxiety and relief that hits him all at once almost physically knocks the breath out of him.

A month. In a single month, nearly a century of pain will be… over. Done. A memory.

He doesn’t know how he manages, the anticipation curling in his gut every time he thinks about it, but he keeps himself busy and the time both crawls and flies, and then it’s _time_.

And when he wakes up, he feels… groggy. Drowsy. _Different_.

Between the magic used and his witcher healing, he only needs about four days to recover. That’s four days sitting around doing _nothing_ , feeling weirdly bloated and empty all at once, but that, too, crawls and flies and then it’s _over_. 

“And how do you feel?” Jaskier asks him.

And, for the first time in his life, he can truthfully say, “Pretty damn good.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this one for a while. I'm getting the yeeterus surgery in _exactly three weeks_ and didn't find out I even _have_ endo (or that it runs in my family) until like, two months ago? I just kept getting ignored or brushed off when I tried to figure out what was wrong because clearly _something_ is wrong if I'm bleeding for eight straight months and in constant pain. But nah, let's just stick an IUD in and call it a day. It's wild that like, you can be in such pain that you can't move some days and there's no discernible reason for it but enough people brush it off that you just start accepting it as the way things are.
> 
> idk I'm really projecting onto Geralt lately. Since I haven't gotten the surgery yet I don't know what it feels like firsthand but like, magic is a thing here. I was told 4 weeks recovery so I shortened it to 4 days for Geralt because like, magic lol
> 
> ETA2: Thank you all so much for the well-wishes. To those of you reading this now, the surgery went very well. I'm recovering pretty quickly. It even gave me a good excuse to visit my parents for a few days, haha


End file.
